User blog:CuteLunaMoon/Chapter 8: Half-hearted journey
Journal of viscount Frederick IV Albert Von Mauve. Lit up the lamp, I close my eyes and see myself wakening anew in Hunter's Dream. The warp left a little tingling in my head and I feel a little queasy. Much to my dismay, my wounds have been healed, but my transformation hasn't been reverted. The wolf tail is still wagging behind my back and from the reflection of my brat mirror, I can still see my pointy ears. I let out a loudly sign and unintelligently kick a small pebble several feet away. Perhaps the little ones would have a cure for this? My heart grows heavy as I recall Gascoigne 's words "Tonight there's something different. Hunters leave home as men, and return as beasts." When I walk closer to the estate, I hear a faint humming of, perhaps a girl. And stands before my eyes, the human-size Doll. For a minute a two, I stand, still can't believe in my sight, for, I thought it must be a prank of someone. When the Doll sees me, she tilts her head as if she also questions about my appearance. Seeing no harm, I walk closer to her. After, I have seen worst. Still a little confused, I introduce myself, kiss her arm and ask. She addresses herself as a Doll, here in this dream to take care of my sickly spirit as well as channel the blood echoes into my strength. Confused, I ask her what is "Blood Echoes" and she answers it's the dying wish of those who inflicted by the curse of blood and beast. Hunters sustained by the dream gain strength from Blood Echoes . She answers lots of my questions, albeit, leaving me even more confused. For example, she tells me that the Messengers are inhabitants of the dream, and they are cute. And, she said, before me, countless hunters have visited this dream, and the graves here stand in their memory. Although her answers seem most uncanny and obfuscate, I find her presence somehow comfortable. I decide to turn some of the said blood echoes into my strength and endurance. "Very well, let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close, now shut your eyes," she says. I, of course, out of curiosity, peek at her porcelain face when she performs the magic. Then, after an hour long of conversation that goes nowhere, I stand up and wave her goodbye. " Did you speak with Gehrman?" She asks me and tells me a little about the old hunter who in charge of this place. " He was a hunter long, long ago. But now serves only to advise them. He is obscure, unseen in the dreaming world. Still, he stays here, in this dream. Such is his purpose." When I ask Gehrman's whereabouts, the Doll point toward the house, whose door is now open. I walk in and find an old, wizened man with a wooden pegleg and on a wheelchair. He seems to be happy to see me as he greets me at the door: "Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream. This will be your home, for now. I am... " He pauses, squints and looks down his garb for likely a second or two "Gehrman, friend to you hunters. You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this. Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. You know, it's just what hunters do! You'll get used to it... " I know not how long he has been in this dream, for, he seems at least at his ninety. He goes on many subjects and seems to be a little fond of the waking world, and seems a little disappointed when I say I'm just a newcomer in this town. "..it has been a long dream, a very long dream... Since I can no longer hunt, this is all I can do... I made a promise, to a dear friend... A promise... Time is a cruel, cruel thing. Haven't you noticed?" He answers, judging by his appearance and his clothing, he must have been here for decades, no doubt he was fond of the news from the waking realm. I feel terribly sorry for the old man. He then says I'm welcomed to use anything in this workshop-- the building we are in. He lowers his voice to almost a whisper "... even the Doll, should it please you..." What an odd suggestion, I think. Then I wake up at the Great Bridge. It's a little disappointing that ever since the lamp popped up in this bridge, I can not wake up to the time before fighting the abhorrent monstrosity. At least, Gascoigne is still alive, I tell myself and begin my search for the way down. Walking past a blazing pyre, I come across a trio of hunters in Yharnam Hunter Garbs. They seem to be in tip-top shape and apparently sane, for, they lift their tricorn hats when they see me. I lift my hat in return and try to walk as fast as I can through the square littered with beast corpses and dimly lit by the burning pyre which they use to burn the remains of the infected. The hunters, no doubt, clearly see my state of transformation. I hear them whisper something when I walk by. When I passed an abandoned chariot, I quickly hide underneath the cabin. For a few minutes, I lay motionless on the dark and humid ground, but it seems unnecessary because there're no pursuers. I finally crawl out when the putrid odour from the rotting corpse of the pulling horse hit my nose. The poor brute probably has been dead for at least a weak, for, maggots and carrion beetles have nearly eaten all the lower half of it and its eye sockets have been emptied by the crows. Suddenly I hear a series of horse-galloping, gun-shooting and beast snarling around a corner of the square, and shortly afterwards, from my mono-scope, I spot a chariot flying with great speed towards my direction and behind it, a pack of horrid scourge beasts. The duo horses gallop all they could, and still, the cab driver mercilessly whip the poor brutes bleeding. On top of the cab, two riflemen are raining bullets on the pursuing werewolves. But the Lycans don't seem to faze a bit from the futile attempts to stop them advancing. When they are four minutes away from me, the driver wrenches the horses' heads hard round to the right and in another moment their cart heels over upon the horses; the shafts smash noisily, and the men are flung onto the street. The beasts immediately pounce and feast on the poor ones. The street soon runs red with blood. Why would they go out on a night of the hunt? Could they be outsiders like me and lost their way to this cursed city? No one knows, for, now, the lie dead on the cobblestone street. I count on my mono-scope there are at least a dozen of beasts. Too many. So I silently retreat. After making my way back to the fountain near the main street to Iosefka's clinic, I spot a man in Foreign clothing knocking a door nearby, only to be answered coldly: " Not from around here, are ya? An outsider, on the night of the hunt? You must be sick, mate. Black Death upon you. I hope they have your head before morning, now be gone. Get away from me now, go." The rejected man turns and sees me. He gives a cry of terror, springs sideways, and rushes on before I could gather my wits sufficiently to speak to him. " Poor you... Poor you... Hahaha" In contrast with the terrified man, the dweller in the house cannot help but crack into a wild, maniac laughter. I follow the runaway man just only to find a pair of half-turned huntsmen have mauled him down. The two see me and charge. With sheer brute force, I rip the head of one from his spine and pin the other through the stone wall. Down the road towards the clinic, there are voices and the sound of feet, but I have not the courage to shout or to go to them. For, I fear either my appearance would scare them off, or my insatiable bloodthirst would take over me and I would slaughter them like swine. I know not from when the beast underneath my skin has woken up and started tackling me for control. Soon, I pick up a frail scent of fresh blood and follow it to a window reinforced with steel and chain. I shake my head hard, try my best not to break the bars apart and pounce on the helpless victim inside. Somehow, I trip over an empty blood vial. Damn those untidy, illiterate huntsmen! The noise, undoubtedly, alarm the man inside. " Who's there?" He asks. "Oh, you must be a Hunter, and not one from around here either. I'm Gilbert, a fellow outsider. " I remain silent. Perhaps, through a peephole somewhere on the window, he sees me, or part of me. For, if he sees my face, he would panic right now. He's kind and open-up, unlike the Yharnamites around. But the poor man can not stand and is tied to a wheelchair, and he often coughs when talking. When I voice my concern for his health, he says he's actually in a better state than when he arrived here. Yharnam special blood saved his life. From him, I learn a great deal about the hunters and the hunt. And most importantly, the way down the aqueduct. Category:Blog posts